JEAN JOSEPH RABEARIVELO

JEAN JOSEPH RABEARIVELO. HOME
JEAN JOSEPH RABEARIVELO from BLUE NOTEBOOKS July 6, 1933, 9:17 I was playing like crazy until the morning. I drank like the sand of the sea. By midnight I had lost everything I had on me… I came back and got all the cash my wife and I had… I lost them again… Poor Mary! Now you have to face all our debts for June alone; and with all your courage! You know very well that this is not malice on my part… June 22, 1937 (just before drinking cyanide) 14:09. You will blame me for this death but even this Galilean, had chosen a kind of suicide. 14:37. All my thoughts tenderly surround my family. 14:51. I hug the family album ... I send a kiss to the Baudelaire books I have in the other room 15:02. Mary, Children. To you my last thoughts ... the last ... Love Song Do not love me , my friend, like your shadow— shadows fade in the evening and I will hold you until the cock crows— Do not love me like pepper, it makes my belly too hot; I cannot eat pepper when I am hungry. Do not love me like a pillow— one would mee t in sleep and not see each other during the day. Love me like a dream— for dreams are your life in the night and my hope in the day. translated by Miriam Koshland The Three Birds The iron bird, the bird of steel who after having lacerated the clouds of morning would want to puncture the stars beyond the day, retreats, as if in remorse, into an artificial cave. The corporeal bird, the feathered bird, who forces a tunnel through the wind to get to the moon he’s seen in a dream among the branches falls with the night into a labyrinth of leaves. And the disembodied one—he who ravishes the custodian of the skull with a stammering song— opens those echoing wings moves to pacify space never to return except once, as an immortal. Translated from the French by Vivek Narayanan Who is there? – Who is there? Is the Woman-whose-footsteps-echo-the-livelong-days? Is it the Woman-who-is-hard-to-question? – It is not the Woman-whose-footsteps-echo-the-livelong-days nor the Woman-who-is-hard-to-question! But I am the wife of another, and the livelong days I must know my place. Besides I am the wife of another, and when someone tells me our secrets I am not at all pleased. So plant one root of a fig-tree: perhaps its shadow would make me come. Plant a few roots of castor-oil tree: perhaps then you might be able to hold me. I would rather walk a long way to get my pitcher filled than take away a half empty pitcher with no waiting! – Offer me green fruits and I will offer you bitter ones.

from BLUE NOTEBOOKS

July 6, 1933, 9:17

I was playing like crazy until the morning. I drank like the sand of the sea. By midnight I had lost everything I had on me…

I came back and got all the cash my wife and I had…

I lost them again…

Poor Mary! Now you have to face all our debts for June alone; and with all your courage! You know very well that this is not malice on my part…

June 22, 1937

(just before drinking cyanide)

14:09. You will blame me for this death but even this Galilean, had chosen a kind of suicide.

14:37. All my thoughts tenderly surround my family.

14:51. I hug the family album ... I send a kiss to the Baudelaire books I have in the other room
15:02. Mary, Children. To you my last thoughts ... the last ...

Love Song

Do not love me , my friend,
like your shadow—
shadows fade in the evening
and I will hold you
until the cock crows—
Do not love me like pepper,
it makes my belly too hot;
I cannot eat pepper
when I am hungry.
Do not love me like a pillow—
one would mee t in sleep
and not see each other during the day.
Love me like a dream—
for dreams are your life in the night
and my hope in the day.

translated by Miriam Koshland

The Three Birds

The iron bird, the bird of steel
who after having lacerated the clouds of morning
would want to puncture the stars
beyond the day,
retreats, as if in remorse,
into an artificial cave.
The corporeal bird, the feathered bird,
who forces a tunnel through the wind
to get to the moon he’s seen in a dream
among the branches
falls with the night
into a labyrinth of leaves.
And the disembodied one—he
who ravishes the custodian of the skull
with a stammering song—
opens those echoing wings
moves to pacify space
never to return except once, as an immortal.

Translated from the French by Vivek Narayanan

Who is there?

– Who is there?
Is the Woman-whose-footsteps-echo-the-livelong-days?
Is it the Woman-who-is-hard-to-question?
– It is not the Woman-whose-footsteps-echo-the-livelong-days
nor the Woman-who-is-hard-to-question!
But I am the wife of another,
and the livelong days I must know my place.
Besides I am the wife of another,
and when someone tells me our secrets
I am not at all pleased.
So plant one root of a fig-tree:
perhaps its shadow would make me come.
Plant a few roots of castor-oil tree:
perhaps then you might be able to hold me.
I would rather walk a long way to get my pitcher
filled than take away a half empty pitcher with no waiting!
– Offer me green fruits and I will offer you bitter ones.